


Hurricane

by odoridango



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Allergic Reactions, House Parties, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, allergic reactions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:46:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4360235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odoridango/pseuds/odoridango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi is on a mission to survive a house party, Isabel and Farlan are on a mission to get him smashed. </p><p>Only one of them leaves the house in an ambulance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurricane

Levi can’t remember why he’s here. He doesn’t like this, not really, frowns at the cheap bottle of shitty beer in his hand and takes another swig anyway, because why the fuck not. The tables are sticky with spilled booze and the bass thumps so loudly he can barely hear himself think what few coherent thoughts he has left. He finishes off his bottle, heads over towards the bright blue bin Isabel is conveniently standing next to, phone screen lighting up her face eerily.

“Remind me why I thought this was a good idea,” he says, carefully curling his tongue around the words.

“If you can still talk you’re not drunk enough yet,” she says with a raptor’s grin. Her thumbs dance across the touchscreen. “Farlan will get us the good stuff.”

Levi makes a vague grumbling noise, but it isn’t the drinking that he minds. He knows how to control himself. What he minds is this, the humidity and heat of the room with so many people packed up against each other like sardines, what he minds are the puddles of vomit that will stink in the front yard the next day, what he minds are the spots of mildew dotting the kitchen ceiling, what he minds is watching Eren dance like he was meant to be bathed in strobes and discolights, stray glitter in his hair and clad in his usual combo of skinny jeans and a graphics tee, watching until Eren catches his stare and smiles at him, dimples and all, halfway across the room. What he minds is the irrational fear that consumes him each and every time they come to a party and he watches Eren disappear into a crowd of moving bodies, that one day, Eren won’t come back. 

But Eren’s DD today, so he’ll be back, like he always is. In the meantime, Isabel anchors him down with her hand on his arm, warm and soothing where she leans against him.

“Let’s get pizza after this,” she says enthusiastically, as if he had managed to forget their time honored tradition.

“Dibs on Hawaiian,” Farlan says as he comes to a rest beside them. He pops the top off one of three bottles and offers it to Levi with a smile. 

“You’re disgusting,” Levi says, grimacing, and takes his first sip. He winces. “What did you get, drain cleaner?”

“Even better,” Farlan says, grinning, “I got you tequila.” He and Isabel clink bottles in triumph.

“Fuck you,” Levi says, but bumps their bottles with his anyway. “Bottoms up,” he mutters, taking another drink. “I’m going to find Eren.”

Isabel laughs, thumps him on the back. “Carry on, my son,” she says. 

It’s a little harder than he thought it would be. There’s so many people and it’s so hot, a stranger doesn’t look where they’re going and bumps into him hard enough that he spills a little bit of his drink on his shirt. His scowl and glare scares the stranger away easily, but the quick thump of his heartbeat in his temples doesn’t subside. He grips onto the neck of the bottle tightly, trying to hold onto the chill of the glass as long as he can, but his palms feel sweaty. His breath rattles in his nose, through his mouth, between his teeth; he looks for the familiar sway and dip of Eren’s body among writhing shadows, but he can’t see the glitter, can’t see the spotlight, and he blinks rapidly, disoriented by the last sweep of bright lights and whooping from the beer pong table. 

Unsteadily, he reaches the stairs, steadies himself on shaky arms against the banister. He lowers himself down slowly, but even as he sits he doesn’t seem to relax, even as he lays his head against one of the wooden posts, he can’t stop sucking the air into his lungs, can’t stop from his hands from shaking a little bit as his head reels, and he knows, he knows–

 _I drank too much tequila_ , he types to Eren desperately, probably making one hundred spelling mistakes with his fingers slipping and shaking over the keys, and his heart swells in his ears, beats and beats as his breath comes sharp and fast, is that him, _I’m hyperventilating send help I think I fell down Satan’s asshole,_ is that whistling noise him

 

 

He wakes up. He blinks, eyes crusted. He is alone, but not for long - a woman sweeps in briefly, then back out again. The ceiling tiles look speckled, and there’s a needle in his arm. 

“Levi,” Eren breathes, flustered and red in the cheeks, and Levi doesn’t want to hear the wheezing of Eren’s breath, so he pats him wearily on the cheeks, paws at Eren’s hands until Eren grips tight, interlocking their fingers, strong and endlessly warm. 

“You’re okay,” Eren says tenderly with a wobbly smile, strokes the hair back from Levi’s forehead, and Levi closes his eyes, feels a little delicate for once. He’s thankful that at least, Eren doesn’t cry. He doesn’t like to see Eren cry.

“What happened?” he asks, and his mouth feels like sandpaper.

“Farlan and Isabel are beside themselves,” Eren says, strokes his hair again. “Apparently, you’re allergic to tequila.”

Levi grimaces. “Great,” he says, “Another thing to add to the list.”

“Levi,” Eren says, steely, “It’s not funny.”

“It’s not,” Levi sighs. “It’s another thing to live with.” He squeezes Eren’s hand, runs his thumb across the grooves of knuckles, slightly dry skin. 

“I’m glad I found you,” Eren says, quiet. His hands and voice are steady. That’s just like him.

The crush of bodies, the roving streams of light. Noise, and the pitter patter of his heart in his ears, opening the door and going in, waiting for Eren to let go and leave him, searching for Eren in crowds of dancing, writhing people, searching for Eren in the sheets of their weekend bed, giggling and sliding hands against warm skin just to revel in their closeness. 

“Thank you,” Levi says, just the first in a line of many thanks to come.

Eren is right here.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written a while ago for a prompt: "I drank too much tequila. I'm hyperventilating. Send help. I think I slipped through satan's asshole."
> 
> It was probably supposed to be funny, but events in this fic were based on a true story - my sister actually went to the hospital after drinking tequila the first time becasue she was allergic and didn't know. So that's what I thought of when I first saw the prompt. Yeah, yeah, tequila is drunk in shots with the salt and the lime but shhhh I didn't think of that when I wrote it ok. 
> 
> The title is from the Florence and the Machine song mostly the "I'm going out, I'm gonna drink myself to death" bit.


End file.
